


Argument the Third: Slavery

by little_abyss



Series: The Rubble of Empire [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 5 Acts Meme, Anxiety, Feelings, Frustration, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:11:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times the Iron Bull and Dorian have a lot to talk about, and one time... they don't.  This one hardly counts, as Dorian doesn't put up much of a fight, but it's sort of about slaving, and Tevinter, and Bull taking a cheap shot at Dorian about it.  So I don't know, go easy on me here, because the subtext in this one hurts me bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Argument the Third: Slavery

The Iron Bull has been finding sand in his clothes for weeks now, ever since that first trip to the Western Approach. There must be a mass of it lodged somewhere in his boot, because it keeps irritating his feet, and it’s proving frustrating. So much so that he sits in the dirt in the middle of the yard and pulls off the left boot, then the right, and begins hammering on the soles, swearing at the sand under his breath, determined to get it all out. 

He hasn’t been in a good mood, truth be told, for about a month now. The letters from his superiors are getting shorter, more circumspect, neither of which are good signs. He feels like he is getting cut out, and being out in the cold is not a good place for a man of his position to be. And that’s just it, the crux of the whole black cloud he’s been under. He knows he exists on the borderlands acceptance with his peers; is well aware of how much his superiors have looked askance at his lifestyle because of his success as an agent. If he no longer has that support… He continues to bang on the sole of his boot, taking his frustration out on the sand, until he hears a now familiar voice at his back which says, “I have a good boot man, could take a look at that for you.”

“Do you own this ‘boot man’, ‘vint?” The words are out of his mouth before he has time to think about it, and then he looks up into Dorian’s face, noting suddenly the circles under his eyes, the tight grasp of left hand on right elbow, the too-bright smile. The smile falters, and Dorian suddenly looks much younger, more fragile than Bull has ever seen him before, and he says, “No, he’s not… not a….” he sighs, turning away, and mutters, “Just forget it.”

Bull struggles up, still barefoot, cursing silently at his bad knee. Dorian hurries off across the yard, head bowed. Just before Bull reaches him, his hand out for Dorian’s shoulder, he starts to say, “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Dorian turns abruptly, folds his arms and says in a shaky voice, “Just leave me alone. I’m not going to be drawn into an argument over the Imperium’s policy on slaving; I’m not going to defend it to you or anyone else.” While he is speaking, Bull remembers suddenly an overheard conversation about a letter that the Inquisitor had received from one Halward Pavus, remembers that Dorian has just come back from meeting someone at Redcliffe. In his mind’s eye, he sees the Inquisitor’s drawn face, shepherding Dorian up to the Library, her eyes and the set of her mouth grim, him chewing a nail, face a blank. He says to Dorian, hand hovering over the other man’s shoulder, not quite daring to touch it, “I really am sorry. I had no right to snap at you like that.”

“I just get sick of it, that’s all.” Dorian heaves a huge sigh and looks away, longingly toward the Library. “I’m not an apologist for the slavers, or their methods. But the truth is, Tevinter is built on the backs of slaves. And it is my home.” He clenches his jaw at that, rubs a hand over his eyes. Still not looking at Bull, he says quietly, “I can’t do this, not today.” And with that, he walks away, Bull’s eyes following him until he is lost in the gloaming at the entrance to the Hall.


End file.
